Sigh

An abbreviated rant: At one of the “experimental” theater productions I attended over the weekend, they were distributing a lil’ pamphlet called “How To Look At New Work,” and it was about the most condescending thing I’ve ever seen.

It was enough to send a girl shopping, and that’s about all I did on Saturday afternoon. So, today I’m giving myself a wee break from all the usual art opening/theater-going/movie-watching crapola to cover one of life’s simpler pleasures… In my lucky case, this actually does qualify as work-related because a) I do happen to edit The Rake‘s Fashion Page. Pfft! and b) My best friend Andrea is engrossed in writing herself a lil’ clothing-themed cabaret, commissioned by The Tulsa Light Opera Company, to be performed this summer in the beautiful “Paris of the South,” ya’all; and, in this process, she has been bouncing ideas off me from time to time.

In any case… I (unapologetically) live in Uptown, okay. Now, I like Marshall Field’s as much as the next guy but most of my clothing purchases are made on-the-fly as I duck into, say, Local Motion, or the doubly dangerous Intoto, while en route to the grocery store. (Just one of the perils of living in a “walkable” neighborhood: this is not easy on the pocketbook.)

Local Motion has long been the staple of my rounds, and for that reason I’m thankful it’s just around the corner from where I live. But Ivy, which is tucked deep inside of Calhoun Square and doesn’t even get any natural sunlight, is my current fave. How did this happen?

As I mentioned on Friday, I’ve all but had it with uber-girlie embellishments. Designers have been throwing all manner of lace, bead, and rickrack onto their ready-wear for too long. Enough already! What I’m looking for these days are clean lines–and by that, I do not mean the bygone 1990s version of Gap-esque simplicity. No, minimalism doesn’t preclude fine details… My ideal dress, for example, is composed of many straight, clean lines–lest they be pleats, which I’m so, so very done with.

So, as today’s Secret, I leave you with this link to my new favorite clothing label: Rhus Ovata. Ivy sells it, although the store also stocks plenty of distracting sparkle. I am now the proud owner of a pink Rhus Ovata shirt, made of intermittent cotton and terrycloth panels, and a gray frock/dress–a creature too complicated to be described, yet it still manages to come across as a minimalist masterpiece. These purchases set me back a ways, since Rhus Ovata clothing does not come replete with a minimalist price.

I promise to tackle something “smarter” and more gender-neutral on Wednesday. Maybe National Poetry Month! Wait, no…